Ara-ara-bitch - A Whore For Lore

Pulling Them By Their Collar

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Thoma, Kaeya, Ayato, Zhongli x gn!reader

Genre/Format: Fluff, comedic, Ayato’s has some angst, Fully written

Word count: 2k words

Warnings: Slightly suggestive but still sfw, some curse words in Kaeya’s, minor self-injury in Ayato’s (clenching fists too hard)

A/N: My half of a collab with the one and only @favoniuscodex <3 go check out her version with Diluc, Itto, and Childe here!!

Keep reading

smile for the photo!

the symbolism and analogies and freaking foreshadowings this had me GASPING left right up down front back and centre

Moon Starves Sun (FULL VERSION)

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Part one: Sun Eats Moon

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

(Warnings: forced relationship, implied nsfw content, implied noncon/dubcon, dark content, implied baby trapping)

When Satoru's close like this, he can hear your heartbeat. 

It's been a while. Ten years. An entire decade. Everything about this is different, yet so familiar. He feels like he's finally reached the shores, feeling the warm sands underneath his feet. Like he's been given his favorite food after being starved for years. Everything melts. Everything except for you. 

He'd like to stay like this forever, listening to your rabbit heartbeat, feeling your soft skin, but for your sake, he pulls himself off you. Lying on a wooden desk probably isn't that comfortable. 

Your eyes are shut. Your breathing is shallow. You're so pretty like this under the moonlight. Your clothes are barely hanging onto your body. He can see every mark he's left on you. Part of him wants to make more, but he'll let you off the hook for now. He's nice like that. 

"Still with me?" 

Your eyes flutter open. You don't respond, but at least you're not crying anymore. He can work with that. 

"C'mon, pretty girl," he says, voice soft, "let's piece you back together." 

The belt left lines on your wrists. He'll kiss them better later. For now, Satoru collects your clothes and heels from the floor, placing them on the desk. He helps you reclasp your bra, runs his fingers on your arms when you finish buttoning your blouse. It's a quiet affair. Every so often, he'd catch your eyes. You don't let yourself linger for long. Satoru finds that a little cute. 

You say nothing when he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding you out of his office. Maybe you're still dazed, still gathering yourself back up, because you don't struggle as much as he predicted. You try to leave his grip when the two of you reach the lobby. He's quick to stop you. 

"Where, do you think you're goin'?" He grips your wrist when you take a step away. 

You look at him, eyes shimmering like water. 

You swallow. "My apartment. I—I need to go back—" 

He clicks his tongue, bringing you back in. 

"We can get your stuff later." He tells you with a grin. "let's just go home, tonight. I'm exhausted." 

You open your mouth. Satoru waits. You say nothing, and he thinks you're starting to get it. 

The moon is a dusky red tonight. Satoru thinks it's an ugly color. 

☾

If Satoru could describe you in one word, it would be: predicatable. 

Normal, boring, a speck in the crowd—none of these are bad things. Just like how much of the universe is nothing, you're an empty void, too. Not everyone can be like him. From the minute he was born, Satoru was destined for greatness—a prodigy, heir to a millionaire conglomerate, the Sun itself. His life isn't written on his forehead for everyone to read. 

You are the exact opposite. Completely unassuming. He practically knows everything about you without even having to ask. 

Like how Satoru can instantly tell you've never been over to a boy's room before. 

You've probably never even been in a relationship before him, either. Even before he managed to corral you into his arms, you were always so annoying about the other things like school and friends. Though, you don't really have much of the latter anymore. His fault, Suguru never fails to remind him. 

He watches as your eyes linger over his shelf: the numerous trophies and awards. You're still standing meekly in the corner, still garbed in your school uniform, clutching your backpack. He has to roll his eyes at how obviously you're trying not to look at him. 

"What're you waitin' for?" He finally asks. You jump, eyes flitting over to find him before you find the floor. He resists the urge to roll his eyes again.

It's not like you two haven't done shit before. You sucked him off twice now, and he's finger fucked you against the bleachers. You should really stop being such a prude. 

"C'mere, pretty girl." 

You comply, dropping your bag, making your way to the bed. When you look at him from beneath your lashes, warily expectant, Satoru feels a thrill rushing through his body. 

He's always been impatient. It's in his nature to take. He nips at your mouth, eager to taste your soul from your soft lips. Soft. Everything about you is so soft—Malleable beneath his fingers. 

Satoru didn't explicitly say what his plan was, but you aren't stupid. He can tell you know what's about to happen when you stiffen in his hold, turn to stone within his grip. He would've allowed it if you hadn't gripped onto his shirt, pulling yourself away from his feasting. 

"Satoru?" You whisper, still leaning away. "The door...?" 

Annoyed, he glances over. His room is open. It shouldn't really matter. 

"It's fine." Satoru tells you. "No one's here." No one's ever here. 

You still look panicked, hands gripping his shirt. Satoru finds that adorably pathetic. How helpless you are. How that's all because of him.

He's sure to make a big show of it. Satoru gives a dramatic sigh, slumps his shoulders, but eventually pushes himself off the mattress to push at the door. He even clicks it shut. He's too nice, sometimes. 

"Happy?" You nod, you don't look very relaxed but your shoulders have dropped a bit. 

Satoru doesn't feel too guilty pushing you down, not when you're already in his bed. He isn't known for his patience. He tastes your skin, leaving marks when he can: teeth bites. He pushes you down down down down so he can sink his teeth into your flesh.

You're asleep and under the covers by the time he's done. The moon's out too. Satoru watches it, largely unimpressed. It's so tiny, a sliver of glowing white. 

And then you shift, turning ever so slightly, enough to catch his attention. He should probably kick you out and send you home. That's what he usually does. When he gets into bed with you, draping his arms around your limp body, he convinces himself it's because he's tired and waking you up would be too much of an effort. 

He lets himself enjoy your warmth; it's nothing like the cold glow of the moon. 

☾

Sometimes, even Gojo Satoru wonders if he's dreaming. 

Sometimes, life is too perfect for him to realize it is real. Everything falls perfectly in place, fitting together like those jigsaw puzzles his caretakers used to distract him with halfheartedly. 

You're in his kitchen, chopping vegetables. 

It had already been a few weeks, but he still wasn't used to this. You, being in his home, in his kitchen, in his bed. Satoru thinks he's masking it well, but his mind is still reeling, it's a difficult adjustment. 

Not a bad one. 

It's like he's been drowning for years and he can suddenly breathe when he sees your toothbrush next to his. It's like he's been stabbed and waking up to your sleeping face is the aloe. It's like he's been suffering through a blizzard, and you cooking in his kitchen, humming a song he doesn't know, is the warm sunny day. 

Things have changed since he brought you home. His home doesn't feel incomplete anymore. As though the apartment itself has agreed that this is where you belong. There are more clothes in his closet, more shoes by the door. The space is ever so slightly less empty and it fills him with tangible relief. He can cook a meal, but it's still nice coming home to something warm already made. 

It makes Satoru wonder what things could have been like, had it not been taken away from him. 

You flinch when he wraps his hands around your waist, nestling into the space in your shoulder. You hadn't heard him come in, apparently. Regardless, you don't linger, fingers hesitating before resuming your task. He finds this part of you adorable. Ignoring the thing that makes your heart race, as though he'll just fade away into the shadows. 

It's his ego that makes him slink into your warm skin, making sure you know he isn't going anywhere. 

"Smells good," he says. 

You nod, pushing away the bell peppers in favor of the onions. Unlike him, you acclimated extremely well. It'd taken nothing to lightly push you to add more and more stuff from your apartment to his. You quietly moved from one setting to another. He remembered this trait of yours from high school. Go with the flow. 

Though, perhaps, it was less out of genuine apathy. Satoru doesn't have to say what will happen to you if you refuse him. He doesn't have to throw lectures about his family and the influence he has on you. He likes that you aren't stupidly brave. He likes that you're meeker, quieter. You pick your battles. 

But he thinks he'd like to see you crack, just one more time. 

"Hey," he says, "let's go out for dinner tomorrow night. There's this restaurant just out of town that has great shrimp cutlet." 

He expects you to nod, like you always do whenever he decides to do something impulsive and meaningless. Instead, you bite your lip. 

"I can't." You mutter after a minute of silence. "I have work. Mr. Higuruma just closed a deal and—and I think I'll be coming home later and later this week." 

Home. It's enough to make his heart flutter. It's the first time you've called the apartment that. Your words almost make him forget about the second thing you said.

Higuruma. The lawyer guy with dead eyes. Satoru remembers him. He always looked at Satoru like he was a child, too stupid to do anything. He never liked how the guy looked at you. Besides, he was way too old for you, never mind that you were taken. You were always taken.

"Oh, right." Satoru gives an exaggerated sigh, fully leaning on you. "Work. What a shame." 

You nod, clearly thinking the conversation is done with. Satoru wasn't so charitable. 

"Y'know, you don't really have to work. Not anymore, pretty girl." His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly as he pulls you towards his chest. Your hands freeze. The knife glints in your fingers. 

"I make plenty of money. You should just stay home. That way, you don't have to work shitty hours." 

You stiffen underneath his fingertips. He's disappointed when your skin turns frigid. When he peeks over your shoulder, intent to look at your face, there's a nervous smile twitching on your lips. 

"I don't think that's a good idea..." you trail off hesitantly. 

"Hm?" He tilts his head with faux confusion. "Why not?" 

The knife moves up and down, as though you can't decide whether to place it back on the cutting board. Satoru realizes it's your way of fidgeting. 

"It...it would just be unprofessional to leave when everything is so hectic." You finally decide on. 

Satoru scoffs. "So? Who cares. I'm sure everything will work itself out. Just rely on me, pretty girl." 

You don't like the answer, but you don't make a comment on it. Satoru just watches you rotate the knife in your hands. He wonders if you want to use it on him. Slice at his neck, leave him out to bleed on the pretty tile floor. Cut straight through his heart, ending it quickly. 

Or would you like to carve out his eye and keep it as a souvenir? He thinks he'd happily let you. It sounds romantic.

You don't do anything. Instead, you pull back your shoulders as if you're physically ready for war. 

"'Toru," you say gently, softly, and it works in his eyes, "I...can't let you support me like this. It's not right. It's not like we're married or anything." You laugh, like it's a joke. Satoru doesn't cave. 

"I mean, not yet." Satoru rocks you back and forth in his hold. "But gimme' some time to shop for a ring, okay? It needs to be perfect for my perfect girl." 

You follow his movements. He can see your mouth twitch out of the corner of his eye. Your eyes get glassy. 

He knows he's terrible, but he really wants you to crack. 

"You're right, Satoru." You say, "I'll put in my two weeks tomorrow." He grins in delight. 

"That's a great idea, baby." Satoru kisses you on the cheek.

Right, you pick your battles. 

☾

Satoru tells you he loves you, and you're gone, not even three days later. 

He breaks and shatters into pieces he'll never be able to put back. Each day without you is torture. He feels like a corpse, just going through the motions. His clothes feel looser. His skin doesn't feel like his own anymore. Every time he looks in the mirror, he sees someone he barely even recognizes. 

It's like you left with his heart. 

No, you ran away with his soul. 

One day, you were Satoru's, safely tucked underneath his arm...the next, you just weren't. 

His parents don't acknowledge it beyond casual disgust. Every time Suguru talks to him, Satoru can barely comprehend it. Days pass by. Everything reminds him of you. His bed feels emptier; he hates it when he reaches out to the space you used to take up and finds it cold. Your locker remains untouched. Nothing is ever the same. 

Satoru tries looking for you, but you're untraceable. No social media, no friends left to tell where you went, not even your fucking parents know where you are. 

You left him. 

You left him to rot. 

Denial comes first. It can't be. You wouldn't. You wouldn't fucking dare. Anger seeps in the next. For weeks, Satoru can only imagine what he'll do when he finds you. He'll break your legs this time. He'll squeeze your neck so hard that your head pops. He'll kill you over and over again until your corpse is begging to be forgiven. And he won't ever stop, because you're Satoru's. 

That doesn't stay for long. He feels himself get weaker day by day. Food tastes like dirt on his tongue. Any of his earlier vices are gone. 

He misses you. 

Why wouldn't he? You were his everything. 

Like all things, it passes. You aren't there to fuel the flames, so the fire wanes in his chest. The ache in his heart gets smaller and smaller. Things keep him busy. College. Then, his new position in the office. 

Ten years pass. He’s forgotten what you look like. But he remembers parts. Every so often, he sees a flicker of you within someone else. Your eyes are on another woman’s face. Your lips on a girl's smile. It irritates him to no end. It’s even worse when he starts seeking them out, keeping those parts of them for just the night. 

Sometimes, if he closes his eyes, he can still hear your voice—what he thinks is your voice—soft, needy Toru Toru Toru. 

“Gojo, sir?” 

He blinks. Ijichi stands in front of him. Satoru looks down at the meticulously crafted pages. 

“Mr. Higuruma needed you to sign this,” Ijichi lifts a paper filled with bureaucratic bullshit he pays other people to understand.

Why did Suguru take off now? 

“Sure sure,” Satoru says, “I’ll get it done.” 

Ijichi shifts nervously. “Well, it’d be best to finish it right now, Sir. His paralegal is just about to leave the building.” 

Oh, right. The lawyer’s assistant. Gojo could never get a good look at that person, but the assistant resembled a shaking deer to him at most times. He’s not even sure if they’ve ever talked to each other, but he always found the other a bit odd. Big eyes. A shaky expression. 

It was a little annoying to look at. 

☾

Some executive was throwing an office gala, and since he is Gojo Satoru, he needed to come along. 

And since you are Satoru's, you're dragged along too. 

Honestly, the only upside to this is you and that new dress he bought you. A velvet turquoise dress that he can't take his eyes off of. The gold jewelry draped across your neck makes you even more delectable. But his favorite part of the outfit is the shimmering diamond ring. 

The ceremony hadn't been anything extravagant. He'd just booked out one of his favorite restaurants, ordering lobster and sweet wine. He remembered hearing his heartbeat when he bent down on one knee, opening the elegant ringbox, like an oyster revealing its pearl. Looking back, he didn't know why he was so nervous: it's not like you'd say no. 

"What do you think of it?" He asked when you were back in his bed, bare from everything except that glistening ring. 

"It's pretty." You spoke, perfectly nestled in his chest. 

He feels in his heart when he hugs you, a small kiss in your hair. You say something, but he can't hear it; he is too preoccupied with feeling you in his arms. It's still so new, even after all these weeks. It's the anxiety, knowing at any second you could leave and he'd be nothing. He won't allow that, he can't. 

"I thought about something else, y'know?" He speaks quietly in your hair. "Ropes, chains, maybe. I could keep you here, forever. But—but then I realized how sad you'd get. I couldn't go through with it." 

You give no reaction. When he tilts your chin up to get a better look at you, your eyes are glassy. 

"You get that, right?" 

You nod. He's really too nice, sometimes. 

He spends the entire evening with you, tucked away in a corner, away from prying eyes. Just because he has to be there doesn't mean he has to be sociable. Every time someone walks up to him and you, a drink in one hand, he resists the urge to bite their head off, feigning politeness. He complains about their lack of decorum to you multiple times throughout the night, his head resting on your shoulder. You pliantly sit there, listening and nodding. 

About ten minutes after the last board member left, someone else walks up. By then, Satoru's patience has mostly declined. He peers over with disdain before he can really process who he's seeing. 

"Suguru!" He waves over. 

You stiffen, and Satoru remembers you haven't seen him in ten years. 

Suguru walks over with an easy smile on his face. He's nicely tanned, and Satoru is reminded of the pictures he sent over of the Maldives. Maybe that's where the honeymoon should be. 

"Had fun slacking?" Satoru asks with a grin; Suguru shrugs. 

When his eyes meet yours, he feigns delighted surprise. Suguru speaks your name with practiced shock. It's imperfect, only Satoru can see the amusement dripping from his fangs. 

"Long time, no see!" Effortlessly, Suguru corrals you into a hug. You follow, giving into the cold touch of affection before pulling away back to him. 

"Hello, Geto." You say when you're rightfully by his side again. "It's nice to see you again." 

Suguru laughs, light and airy. "You as well!" He looks at your hands, tilts his head. "Oh? Congratulations, you two! When's the date?" 

"Eh, we'll figure that out later." Satoru gives a quick kiss on your cheek. "Everything happened so fast, y'know? Us reuniting and everything: It feels like fate." Suguru's eyes flash. "Let's not rush this. We'll take our time." 

Suguru nods along thoughtfully. He's looking right at you, and you stare right back. Not used to feeling left out, Satoru is quick to intervene. 

The conversation is light, two long-time friends reuniting after a long spell. You stay quiet like decor, settling into Satoru's side. Suguru doesn't acknowledge you after that. 

"We gotta' go. It's getting late." He eventually says, tugging you along. 

Suguru gives a pleasant smile. "Of course, of course. We should catch up sometime." He directs this at you. You give a strained smile before Satoru leads you off. 

"Suguru." The man turns. Satoru grins. 

"I loved my gift. Thanks, man." 

Suguru's smile is catlike. 

"You kids have fun." He calls out right when Satoru's dragging you away all over again. 

You're silent. Not in the way you usually are, pliant and cute. You're thinking. He gives you a nudge. 

"What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?" 

You shake your head. "Nothing." And then you say, "He's changed." 

From your view, Satoru supposed that's true, but really—

"Nah." Gojo shakes his head. "He's just dropped his act." 

Satoru's hand was wrapped around your waist when you two ran into him. You hadn't noticed him yet, eyes fixed on the floor. The lawyer hadn't changed since the last time Satoru saw him. That dead expression, those creepy eyes. Higuruma's eyes flit over your figure, before he finds Satoru's. 

He stares. Satoru stares right back. Something gives, and the lawyer calls out your name. 

"How are you?" His tone is cool, and this is another reason why Satoru can't stand him. The guy has no tells. He's just a talking robot. 

Unlike you, fidgeting by his side, practically vibrating with nerves. 

"I'm fine, sir." Your smile gets more painful to look at by the second. 

Your voice earns you a tired smile, a mild pinch of humor. Higuruma shakes his head, waving you off. 

"No need for formalities. We aren't at work." His smile drops just a bit, as he watches you for a bit more, eyes flickering to your hand. "I was...surprised when I saw the announcement. I didn't know you and Mr. Gojo were involved." 

Satoru grins, making himself known like a shark in the water. His grip on you tightens. 

"Oh, you didn't tell your boss 'bout us, baby?" He looks down at you with cruel mirth, pinching your cheek. You wilt. "We go way back—highschool sweethearts. Lost contact for a couple years. It's actually thanks to you we were able to find each other again. We'll send you the invites." He presses a kiss to your hairline. 

Higuruma hums at that. Satoru expected jealousy in his eyes; he's even more upset when he finds none. 

"I'll be sure to save the date." 

Then he shuts Satoru down completely. 

"I heard about your resignation. It's sad to see you go," Higuruma says. 

You nod, but you don't look at him. "Satoru and I talked about it, and we decided it's best if I focused on other things." 

"Very, very busy, this one nowadays." Satoru interrupts. "Between wedding plannin' and all that."

"Is that so?" Higuruma says dismissively, "in any case, you already knew this, but I've begun preparations to start a new firm." He reaches into his wallet, pulling out a card. "I always thought you were good at what you do. If you ever want to get back into the industry, call me." 

You take the laminate slip with a quiet thank you. Satoru feels blue turn into red. 

When Higuruma slips into the party, Satoru tightens his grip on you a little harsher than necessary. He's dragging you through the halls. Behind him, he can hear you stumbling over your heels, begging him to slow down. He knows he should care, but he doesn't. That damn lawyer. Those dead eyes. Mocking him. 

"Did you fuck him?" He asks when his anger has reached a high enough peak that he presses you against the wall. 

Your eyes are wild, flitting back and forth. He'd your expression a little cute if he wasn't feeling like a furnace, at the moment. 

"No. I—we never." You say. "Mr. Higuruma was my boss. And—and he's married—" 

"Really? 'cause you're precious 'Mr. Higuruma' was eyeing you up and down like he's already seen what's underneath." 

"'Toru." You plead. "Let's—let's just talk about this at home. Please? Let's just go home." Home. You said that word again. If he were a better man, he'd melt, but he's not. 

"Shut up." He spits out. "Hike up your dress." 

You stare at him. Then, you try to smile, like he's making a shitty joke. It wavers on your lips. 

"It's...we're still in public." You whisper and it's so cute you think he'd actually care about that. "We—we can't...we shouldn't—" 

"Baby." His voice drops, as he licks at your neck. "Pull up your dress, get rid of those panties. Otherwise, I'm just gonna take it off myself." 

He doesn't need to explain anything further. You already get what he's saying. Right now, Satoru doesn't care if you leave this building with your clothes intact. 

He thinks the worst part is that he knows he's being unreasonable. He's backing you into a corner where you'll have no choice but to surrender, and he knows that, but he keeps thinking about those man's eyes and how he looked at you and it was just all so much. 

He'll apologize to you later, with flowers and shiny gold earrings. He'd give you the world; just be good for him now. 

He just needs his fix. So just be good for him now.

☾

When Satoru discovers it's been you all along, he feels like an idiot. 

In a pathetic way of defending himself, he convinces himself there's no way he could have recognized you. You're so different compared to your high-school self. 18-years old, fresh-eyed, naive. The you now is all grown up: a mature voice, a new hairstyle, clothes he'd never even think you'd wear. 

It also didn't help that he couldn't even see your face since you turned away every time he looked at you. 

Embarrassing. He's just glad Suguru wasn't here to call his blunder. 

He thought about it a lot. He spent an hour in his office, pacing around, doing nothing but thinking and thinking and thinking. Part of him wants to corner you already. He can already feel your rabbit heartbeat on his fingertips, the look you always had in your eyes when he was right in front of you. Part of him wants to ruin your life the same way you ruined his. He wants to tear you apart, piece by piece. Leave you in tattered pieces. 

But he can't do that. Satoru still loves you. 

You left him a hollow shell. Broken. Tainted. There are pieces of him he still can't find. He should hurt you. He's hurt other people for doing less. But they weren't you. Even after all those years, he's never quite stopped loving you. 

But he wants to sate his bloodlust, just a tiny bit. 

His perfect opportunity comes where he, the lawyer, and you are all sitting in one of the waiting rooms. The lawyers explaining something, possibly about the ongoing case. Satoru doesn't really care. Besides, this is what Ijichi's here for. 

He waits until everyone is quiet. You're unassuming. By then, your shoulders have lowered, like you think you've gotten away with it 

"Hey," he says, "do we know each other?" 

The other two don't bother, but you stop completely. The pen in your grip shakes. Satoru resists the urge to laugh. 

You timidly glance up like you're still delusional enough to think there's a fifth person he's talking to. Satoru has always been told his eyes are like two suns: bright and intense. He lowers his glasses. You wilt under the solar flares. 

"Hm?" He prods, enjoying the way you shrivel. "Have we?" 

You swallow, glassy eyes flicking from side to side. Finally, you clear your throat. 

"No." You mutter, voice barely a whisper. "I don't think we have." 

"Are you sure?" To intensify the magnifying glass, he leans closer, like he's examining you. "'cause you look really familiar." 

To his delight, you chew on your bottom lip. He can imagine biting it until it's bloody and raw. He stops just when you're about to shatter completely. Breaking you too soon would take the fun out of it. 

"Oh, wait. I don't think that was you." He relents, pulling back and he can see the relief ooze over your face. "I think I got you mixed up with someone who interviewed here a couple months ago. My bad. Maybe you have one of those faces." 

You nod, eager to take the out. 

"Yes," you quickly say, "one of those faces." 

How adorable. You haven't changed since high school. 

He's usually not this obvious, but Suguru isn't here to berate him about it and it's not like anyone else will get on his ass. The women he brings in are his usuals: tall models with full lips and perfect bodies. Satoru parades them around like expensive jewelry. He wants to see you seethe in envy, stew in it. He wants you to see what you abandoned. 

But you don't do any of that. You just sit there, like the dutiful little workbee you are, right by your boss's side.

And then, you give one of them your jacket. Satoru can't stand it wrapped around her waist like she fucking owns it—own you. She wears it so flagrantly, like any token from you shouldn't be worshipped and coveted. He hates it. He hates it. 

"I've never done this in an office before." She squeals when she shuts the door behind her. "So, how do you—" 

"Get out." 

The girl pauses. What was her name again? Satou was too pissed to give a single shit. 

"Um, what?" 

"What, you deaf or something?" He waves her off as if he weren't seething. "Get out." 

"Oh," she says, blinks, and then she takes a step back. 

"Wait." Satoru stops her. 

"Take that off." He points to your jacket. She does it with zero complaints. When he tells her to drop it on the chair, she follows that too. Reluctant expectation. Kind of like you. Maybe that's why he was initially invested in her. 

He only takes the fabric after she's gone. It's soft underneath his fingertips. Nothing designer, but good quality. When you're finally underneath him again, he'll buy you better clothes, all the jackets you want. 

He needs you. He can't wait anymore. 

He needs you, whether you want him or not. 

☾

Satoru wakes up to something crashing. 

It's faint, obviously coming from the bathroom. Not the best way to be woken up. He remembers the first few nights he brought you home. He'd hear you crying in your sleep, choking on tiny sobs. It was the sweetest little thing, like a whimpering puppy. 

These noises are a little more concerning. 

He yawns, sliding out of bed. You didn't bother locking the door. You didn't even close it all the way, either. A sliver of light comes from the crack before he pushes it open. 

"Baby?" He calls. You don't answer. 

You had knocked over a caddy. Toothbrushes, hairclips, soap dispensers, perfume bottles were scattered all over the floor. You're curled up in the corner of the bathroom, huddled right next to the tub. You seem physically okay, no blood, no bruising, but he can't see your face. And you're shivering. 

Satoru's about to call out to you, when he steps on something. He looks down at the tiles. 

A positive pregnancy test. 

"I'm not keeping it." Your voice is hoarse, like you've been crying for hours. "I'm not keeping it." 

"Pretty girl." He coos, trying his best to keep the glee out of his voice and failing. "Let's not worry 'bout that, right now. C'mon, let's get you off the floor." He reaches for your hand. You smack it away. It stung. 

When you look at him, eyes bloodshot and brimming with angry tears, Satoru's heart skips a beat. He feels like he just trapped a wild animal, making it pace in a corner. Any wrong move could result in his hand getting bit off. It's scary. 

He's finally cracked you. 

"Fuck you." Your voice shakes and wobbles, but it's loud and you're clear. "Fuck you. You're a sick, twisted man-child. You ruined everything. You ruined my entire life and—and now you—" 

You're cut off by his giggling. It sounds psychotic even to his ears. He's beyond caring. You flinch when lifts your face up, forcing you to look into his eyes. He's smiling so hard it hurts. 

"Yeah, I did that. I ruined you. I ruined your entire fucking life. For me." He stresses, squeezing your face so hard you try to pull away. "But I had to. You—you wouldn't be here if I didn't." He sighs, pressing your body to his. "I need you."

You're both huddled on the bathroom floor, captive and lover. He's clutching you to his chest, smiling, nestling his face in your hair. You don't say anything for a while. 

"I'm not keeping it." You whisper. "I'm not. I wouldn't stand it if it ended up like you." 

It's spiteful. You're still in that phase where you think your venom can hurt him, as though he'd see your blows as anything but blessings. Satoru thinks to his own childhood. Where he was given everything, lathered in gold and silver. Yet, the house was always cold. But you were always so warm. 

"That won't happen." He tells you. "'cause you're here." 

Your anger has dwindled to smoke. Maybe you've finally realized how crazy he was for you. 

"Please let me go." It's not a beg. It's not even a request. 

"I can't," he honestly says. 

"You won't." You correct him. 

He smiles in your hair. 

"No baby," he says, "I can't." 

If you ran away again, if you escaped his claws, he'd probably die. Drop dead, rot on the floor. He needs you. Even more than he needs food, water, and oxygen. You won't understand that. You've never been in love before. 

You don't fight him. If anything, you sink into his hold. He's there to catch you, heart soaring. You lean into his chest 

"I hate you." You whisper. His heart beats a little faster. It's probably the first time you've ever been so honest with him. 

God, he loves you. 

"I hope our baby has your eyes," he says. 

"I hope our baby looks exactly like you." 

You say nothing, but when he leans down to kiss you, you finally kiss back. You're cracked, and your essence is ready to be molded in his image, just like he's always wanted you to be. 

If Satoru is the Sun, then you must certainly be his universe, the plane in which he rests, because there would be no existence for him if not for you. 

this had so much word flavor oml 🫶🫶🫶

soulmate trope | todoroki s.

Todoroki’s route of soulmate trope.

Wow, you sure seem to be injuring yourself more than usual. That can’t be related to anything significant.

warnings: extremely mild self-harm. secondhand embarrassment.

~11k words

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CURSED SPIRIT — y.o

⛤ curse!yuuta okkotsu x fem!reader

yuuta okkotsu being your one and only curse.

cw. smut. unprotected sex. creampies. multiple orgasms. groping. dry humping. public sex-ish. fingering. slight oral (f. receiving). overstimulation. thigh fucking. somnophilia. possessiveness. yandere tendencies. mentions of violence. +18!

wc: 1.2k

a/n: inspired by @deviants-forest work! etc. (go check it out) also happy kinktober! :)

Curse!yuuta who creeps up your back, his hands finding your waist and his lips tickle your ear as he’s whispering how much he needs you on a subway train to home. “Not now…” you whisper over your shoulder to him trying not to be noticeable by others who crowded you and payed no mind, too busy on their phones. You bit your bottom lip when he presses himself against your ass in one movement already having your blood rush like crazy. You try to keep your composure like nothings bothering you but yuuta’s hard on humping into you desperately, whining in your ear and his cold hands reaching under your shirt to grope your boob. “need you ‘s bad” he was always touchy, could never keep his hands off you.

Curse!yuuta who doesn’t mind your sorcerer friends as long as they don’t get too close. Your friends can sense the heavy weight of cursed energy from you, even if they got close it was too much to bare sense yuuta was around, the air would fill thick and negative. You could barely go out with them to eat without his fingers buried in your cunt and playing your clit. They would ask you if you were okay when your head is down on the table but you just excuse it as you were not feeling well for a second but yuuta is grinning ear to ear, amused how your well your taking his slender fingers, curling them inside and you can’t help but squirm in your seat acting like your stomach is just hurting though you were about to orgasm. “Please yuuta..” you whisper to him “Come on you can cum on my fingers..” his raspy tone sending you shivers down your back.

Curse!yuuta who watches an “old friend” hug you, his hands in places that shouldn’t be. After you would praise yuuta for staying calm but yuuta would give shake his head only because you would be upset if he did anything and simply gave you a warning “Next time I’ll break his arm” “You can’t be serious” you sigh, you always knew he was.

Curse!yuuta who clenches his fist watching some prick try to flirt with you in front of him knowing he can’t be seen. Even the second time you reject him you can feel yuuta’s anger grow by the second that in any moment he would take action. “I-i have a boyfriend-“ praying yuuta doesn’t get violent “I don’t see him?” His hand coming up to touch your shoulder now he’s on the floor shouting in pain, blood from his broken nose all over his hands, shaken up that he didn’t see anyone hit him? Was he going crazy? “Pathetic” Yuuta mutters luckily he held back a lot, he could do so much worse and this wasn’t the first time.

Curse!yuuta who gets anxious that you might hate him when you get into arguments. He feels like he can’t exist without you, he’s nothing without you and the thought of you hating him makes his heart sink and scared that he’ll be all alone. He didn’t care about anyone else he just needed you. The amount of times you got tired of telling him not to hurt people and you could handle the situation yourself. He’ll plead you not to hate him and apologized excessively. “We can talk about this tomorrow” his stomach sinking by the tone of your voice that it will all end up to you hating him. He couldn’t stand the feeling.

Curse!yuuta who wants to let you know how much he loves you and how much he needs you, praying you don’t leave him or hate him. He glares at you in your sleeping state though he can’t wait til tomorrow he needed you to know now. “Please don’t hate me” “i love you so much” as he’s softly kissing your neck on each side, peeling your panties off. The cold air makes your cunt clench at his sight. He’s kissing the inner of your thighs sweetly and his lips makes contact with your pussy and a small whimper emits from your mouth. “Yuuta” you utter half sleep thinking it was only a sex dream, you were a heavy sleeper at that. he’s burying his lips between your folds trying to get more like he was so starved. If he can just make you feel good you won’t be mad at him and you can forgive him.

Curse!yuuta who can’t wait any longer, his dick pulsating through his pants even how much he gets drunk off your pussy, he loves the taste of it every time but he’s rutting against the mattress. Brings your thighs together to slip his cock between, throwing his head back letting out quiet moans as his cock is rubbing against your clit between your thighs. Your eyelids almost twitching open. He spreads your legs apart and sinks his dick into you watching your pretty lashes flutter at the sudden pleasure of you being spread apart. “Yu..?” You begin to stir awake, he kisses your lips before you start to fully take consciousness. “I don’t want you to hate me” “forgive me please” as he’s thrusting harsh inside you and swallowing your lips. By the time your walls were the shape of him every time he used you so it was easy for him to slide right in, you were made for him and he was made for you was the thought that brought him comfort. His fingers entwines with yours, his cock continuously rubbing hard in your insides. “Yuuta!” You moaned beautifully in his ear, your hand clawing at his back, yuuta loved it, it didn’t hurt him because you could never hurt him he didn’t mind it.

Curse!yuuta not wanting to stop, he’ll never get tired of cumming and filling up your pussy. You’ll be overstimulated begging him to stop it was awfully much to handle, you couldn’t cum anymore but you did as he’s plunging his cock in your abused cunt. The choke sobs and sounds of squelching filled the room “Need you-need you tell me you love me…please f-forgive me..ah!” Rubbing your clit increasing more nerves. “I-i love you yuuta! Ah-I really do! I could never be mad at you” Your words lifting weight off his chest still pounding into you. Holding you in a warm embrace to finish inside you. When he did filling up your womb one last time with his string of cum, your nails dig into his back letting your last orgasms crash into you. You let out a cry into his shoulder, your body trembles.

Curse!yuuta who needs constant reassurance you’ll never leave him, placing gentle kisses on each part of his face. Even though he’s nothing but a curse to you, being invisible to the outside world, Has a hard time showing remorse it’s just what he does to protect you, he somewhat doesn’t know that but knows he can be a bit possessive he just can’t help the urges of anyone getting close to you or worse even laying a finger.

Curse!yuuta bending you over the counter in the morning as you were trying to make yourself breakfast, last night was rough you were a bit sore but yuuta still misses your pussy. “Just a quick one I promise! I miss you so much! I’m just displaying my love for you—“ he pushes himself inside your worn out cunt from last night once again, you whimper at the feeling each time he rolls his hips when his balls slap against you. His hands reaching to your tit, massaging it in his palms. You don’t think you could ever break the curse from yuuta okkotsu.

Jealousy/possessiveness hcs for Scara in each era

Pairing: Scaramouche x Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, hickeys, suggestive

Kabukimono gives you lots of freedom. He's far too innocent to imagine others having indecent thoughts about you. He likes having your attention on him, don't get me wrong, but he won't actively try to get it. When he gets it, he's happy and he'll show you and tell you just how you make him feel at the moment. Likes to hold your hand because it makes him warm inside, not to show you off. Depending on how many betrayals he's been through, he'll get more insecure and dependent on you. His touches linger longer, his hugs get tighter, there's a questioning glint in his eyes - will you betray him too? You just have to keep distracting him from such thoughts and trust me, with your mere presence you're already doing something.

Fatui harbinger Scaramouche is the worst. He's quick to anger and thinks the worst when he sees you talking to anyone that isn't him, especially when they're male. In no time he's next to you, pulling you to him harshly and glaring at the one who had your attention. He will force himself into the conversation and this way he takes control of it and can end it easily any minute. If someone touches you and he sees it, he isn't above showing everyone you're his by kissing you, tongue and all. By the time he's finished with you, the unfortunate soul is usually gone and if not, a few biting insults from him do the trick. Loves to mark you on visible places and encourages you to not cover it. He's once thrown a fit when he saw you covering them with a scarf so unless you want to deal with grumpy annoyed Scara, just do what he wants.

Wanderer likes to remind everyone you're his every now and then. He has his moments when he get insecure and needs to give you at least a little mark but overall it's a big progress in comparison to his Fatui harbinger days. Reassurance goes a long way for him, as now your words will replay in his head whenever he feels unreasonably possessive over you. He's more mature now although if he's having a bad day, he can get unreasonably jealous. If that happens, please remind him of your love for him, show him with your actions that you won't leave him and he'll give you a night you won't forget anytime soon.

the end, the end, the end. / hayakawa aki x gn!reader, spoilers, angst, hurt no comfort, mild sexual content, minors dni. word count: 3.1k

Aki spent his entire trip to Hokkaido thinking about you. When his thoughts begin to wander like this, he isn't given much of a choice; you occupy every space in his mind. Each stream of consciousness always seems to lead right back where he left it — You. 

Hokkaido is cold, empty, and manages to suck the life out of everything it touches. The sky is a certain shade of melancholy blue and twilight. It's the kind of atmosphere that causes him to slip into his usual routine of drowning in old, tired memories and his own reflections. His heart and his brain don't spare him much pity these days. 

Frost creeps at the edges of the windows. A veil of snow falls incessantly and swirls with the wind, obscuring any semblance of a view, leaving him only able to see what lingers in the back of his mind: graves made of polished stone, loaded guns, failed attempts to quit smoking, forgetting how to say a prayer because it's been too long. Getting cold feet, and trying to live an honest life, even though you know it's far too late for that. 

The expedition to kill the Gun Devil is coming soon, creeping closer, and Aki's got one arm, half a heart, and way, way too many regrets. This is the moment he worked so hard to get to, this is the big crescendo his entire life has been building towards, and now look at what's become of him. All he can do is reach up, brush his fingers over the stub where his arm used to be and wonder how the hell things got this far, this bad. Did the world do this to him, or did he do this to himself? 

So weak, so soft-hearted — He can't fight like this. He'll end up making more contracts with devils just to stand a chance. Sacrificing more of himself, even though there isn't much left of him to give. 

He's not prepared; honestly, when was he ever prepared? From the moment he became a devil hunter, putting himself on this path, he always imagined he was settling for an unreachable goal. But now, he's come face to face with the end, with everything he thought he wanted and… God, he just can't do this. 

Life is so damn fragile. Aki has been walking this thin line between life and death, living on the borrowed time he takes for granted. With all of his shitty decisions and past mistakes, he should be lucky he got this far. But if he goes through with this, when he goes on this mission, he's really going to die, isn't he? 

There's a letter sitting on his coffee table back home. One he meant to send before he left, but never did. A letter he mulled over again and again and again, read hundreds of times, rewritten even more so. 

Handwritten in pen with shaky letters, sentences constantly interrupted by scribbles over mistakes. The paper is see-through where tears have fallen and bloomed out over the page, stained with the dark ashes flicked from one too many cigarettes. It's sealed with a stamp, tucked neatly into an envelope. Addressed to you. 

Hey.  I'm leaving. I won't be coming back. Don't try to look for me.  I'm sorry for everything. You don't have to forgive me.  Take care of yourself.  I love you. Goodbye. 

I love you. Those words are particularly messy. Nearly unreadable, but still tangibly there. Aki isn't sure if they simply aren't true or if he just wants them to not be true. 

Did Aki ever love you? No, he wrote those words out of mere obligation, that's all. Because I love you is what you say to someone when you're speaking to them for the last time, when you're never going to see them again, and you want to leave them with something good. 

Because I love you is what you tell someone after you've spent nights lip-locked, kissing each other 'til sunrise (No, he was drunk, you were drunk, it doesn't count). I love you is what you whisper to someone when you're about to drift off, holding them in your arms close to yourself, like they'll disappear once you let go (He was exhausted, he didn't mean to say it, the words just slipped out — It doesn't matter, you were asleep, anyway).

Aki felt his heart twist into unknown shapes when he wrote those words. Crushed, chewed up, spat out, his teeth stained red with blood. I love you consumes him from the inside out, all the way down to the core. The thought of it alone is enough to hurt, to make his chest ache. 

Aki didn't love you, but he could have. Aki didn't truly love you, because he has only one arm to hold you, half a heart to love you, and dwindling time to spend beside you. Aki didn't love you because he thought it'd be easier not to, but now he thinks he might have only made things harder. 

How do you stop loving someone when you never said you did? Everything was supposed to be fake, you were supposed to be momentary. Now, you're forever imprinted into his timeline. Your soul is felt in his veins, in his lungs as he breathes, deep in between the structure of his ribs. 

Aki finds himself wishing that one day, you'd wake up and realize you hate him. You'll despise his existence and look at him like you want to destroy him. It's alright, who can blame you? This is how things are supposed to be. Go on and say it. 

You'd do what he's been terrified to: you'd tell him to leave, beg him to go far away from here and forget about you. In the end, it will be what's best, so you never have to see him again. So you don't have to live with the weight that he's going to die and it won't be peaceful. Instead, it will be worthless, hollow. 

Maybe then, maybe if you hated him, all of this would be so much easier. If you stopped staring at him like he's irreplaceable, like he is everything to you. If you didn't cry on his shoulder and hold him tightly when he comes home from a mission half-dead. 

If you never lived and blossomed in what remains of him, flowers to fill his throat, soft petals in his dying heart — Perhaps then, he'd find it easier to run from you. 

How do you manage to swallow down the things you never said, when you know that if you do, they'll go unspoken forever? Those words — I love you — will die pitifully alongside you, buried beneath the soil with your body. It doesn't matter; he never had the right to say them in the first place. The memories of lingering touches and quiet moments will be the only traces. 

Aki could have loved you, and that's the problem. That's the worst part of it all. Aki could have loved you, and you could have been his, but he could have never been yours. 

Aki is a hopeless tragedy. He is crimson blood that never stops spilling, deep purple bruises that never fully heal. And he belongs to no-one but this horrible system, to hunting devils until his body is spent and they've taken every last thing from him. The one thing he refuses to let them have is you. 

He promised to himself this: to keep you as far away from devil hunting as possible, by any means necessary. Even if he has to lose you in the process. You can't experience the same horrors as him, you won't. At least then, if he loses you this way, he will have finally lost someone of his own accord. At least he finally has a choice. 

You can't save him. No-one can, not even himself. Not even whatever God he decides to send his prayers to, in hopes there's someone out there to take pity on him. It's far too late to try and pick up the pieces. Aki belongs to this life for as long as it'll allow, until it decides to swallow him whole. Until hell decides it's ready to take him. 

You can't keep him forever, but you can have him on fleeting nights, during brief moments of solace. He comes home from work exhausted and weary, but willing to give you what's left of him. You chain smoke cigarettes on the balcony together, late into the night. Standing shoulder to shoulder, although it never feels close enough. Aki smokes each one down to ash, the nicotine soothing the ache, finally shutting up his brain. 

When you met, you were just two people looking for a vice, trying to find something, someone who's anything like those cigarettes. You wanted someone who would make you forget about the emptiness, Aki wanted someone who would make him feel whole. 

He kisses your lips 'til he can't breathe, so that his tongue no longer aches with the weight of all those words left unsaid. He makes love to you until sunlight is creeping through the blinds, everything hazy, tender, impossibly close, so he can feel something besides nothing at all. 

He savors these moments, drowns in every press of your warm hands on his cold skin. Your fingertips trail down his back, along his spine. Between his shoulder blades, then over his chest, tracing every scar he's ever tried to hide, and his body shivers at the touch. His hands tremble when he holds you; they weren't made for this. His breath comes in ragged gasps. Aki shouldn't do this — His touch is utter decay, enough to stain you with his existence — and he knows it, but he can't stop. 

The addiction courses through his veins, settling in the cavity of his chest every time he looks at you. His head is fuzzy, with fluffy cotton clouding his thoughts. He feels it bleed over whenever he gazes down at you under him, skin soft like silk, limbs sprawled out like a fallen angel. A sin worth sacrificing everything for. 

It's selfish. It isn't like him to do this, to act in this way. How could this happen, what has he done? His story was never supposed to go like this. It's hopeless, and he has left you doomed to suffer. But even so, he adores you, as much as a man who's going to die in a few years, months, weeks, possibly can. 

Over and over again, he falls for you, stumbling into the same temptation. A moth drawn to a flame, and when he catches alight, it burns, but it's beautiful. As he turns to ash, with his last breath, he will whisper to the world, It was worth it. 

He can't help himself, because the way his name falls from your lips sounds more divine than the way anyone else has ever said it. Aki seems to have the most meaning when you're the one to utter the syllables. Hayakawa doesn't sound like just another horrible, heavy weight he has to bear when it's spoken from your mouth. His very existence is more precious to you than it is to the world. 

Aki didn't love you, and you weren't together, but you were something, weren't you? Your circumstance wasn't just a hookup or a mere distraction anymore. You meant something. You meant more to him than his own stupid life ever did. Something, whatever that might mean to this fucked up situation, but something. 

When he loops back to the beginning, Aki knows there's a thousand excuses as to why he never sent that damn letter. He was scared, he thought it sounded stupid, he couldn't figure out what he'd say when he handed it to you. And most of all, he wasn't ready to say goodbye. He'll be ready eventually, he told himself. There will come a day when he's strong enough to let you go. Turns out, Aki is a whole lot weaker than he thought he was. 

So he delayed it, delayed it, delayed it. Pushed it back further and further. Once again, selfish. Just one more night with you, then he'll send it. Give him one more day, one more rising sun. One more kiss, one more chance to hold you close. Then, then, he'll be ready. 

Every postponement is just another letter he has to crumple and re-write. Aki has to find a sense of closure somewhere. If he slips the letter in your mailbox, runs as far as his legs will take him, will he be able to stop himself from turning back? If he knocks on your door, places the tear-stained envelope in your open hands, and presses his lips to yours one last time, will he even be able to pull away? 

When he gets back from this trip, he'll see you again, and he knows it's going to hurt. In another universe, things didn't unfold like this. He was going to leave you, he was going to disappear. Now, it's nothing but knowledge he has to live with. You'll cup his face in your hands and wipe the tears from his eyelashes. You will never know. 

There's only a matter of time before Aki is called for his last mission. Then, he's going to be forced to say goodbye, and it doesn't matter if he's ready or not. He doesn't want to die. Of course he doesn't want to die, he's utterly terrified. What will it be like, what's going to happen to him? Will his life be snuffed out, like his cigarette pressed into the ashtray, or will it linger like a curse, his ghost to haunt you? 

Hopefully not. Aki always longed for a death that was quick and painless, one that he wouldn't know was coming. The kind of ending everyone longs for, he supposes. For a brief moment, he wonders: would a death beside you feel better, or worse? Wishful thinking. As if he'd ever have a choice in the matter. As if, in this pathetic life he's led, he'd ever be lucky enough to die that way. 

Aki can't choose how he departs. He'll never be able to, but whether or not he leaves you of his own choice, like he intended, is up to him. 

So, he'll write the letter. He's going to let himself have one more night with you, and then, that will be enough. You'll wake up to an empty bed, to him gone, and an envelope on your nightstand. He'll have his last chance to say everything he wants to say. 

I'm leaving on the expedition to defeat the Gun Devil. I am certain I won't be coming back. This is goodbye, for me and you.  I'm grateful I got to meet you. I don't deserve you, I don't think I ever deserved you. I wish there's some reality out there where I did.  Remember to throw out all of my belongings. Move away from this place, if you have to. The money from my will should be enough to live on. I want there to be nothing left to remind you of me.  Smoke one last cig, for my sake. Then quit. Wash the sheets until they no longer smell like me. Don't read the newspaper the morning after. I don't want you to see my name in the obituaries. Forget about me, in every way you can, in every sense of the word. For your own good.  I love you. I've always loved you.  Hey, I know it's going to hurt. I'm sorry. But take care of yourself, for me. Please.  In the life after this one, I'll come and find you, okay? 

Hokkaido is cold, so cold. Aki has come to deeply know the way the cold numbs everything, from the knuckles of your bony fingers down to the end of your toes. The way winter envelops you, the way it takes you. But it doesn't numb what you feel inside: the aching love-sickness, nor the burning home-sickness. His body is freezing, a chill twists up his spine, but his heart won't settle, his brain won't quit. 

Thankfully, he is nearly done here. He'll head home tomorrow morning. You'll be waiting for him at the station, when he gets off his train. You'll hug him, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, his arm around your back, and he'll wish you'd never let go. There's both pain and comfort to be found in that. 

Aki will forget about everything for a moment all too short. Then, he'll leave behind the letter. He'll fight the Gun Devil, he'll get blown to bits. And when his flesh and blood is smeared across the sand, he knows the last thing he'll be thinking about is if you're okay. 

Are you watching the news right now? I hope you aren't. Are you safe? Don't worry, by the time you return to the beach, the waves will have washed away the last of me. 

Aki can imagine, if you were watching, you'd end up running to him. Always running after him, while he's trying to run away from you. You'd hold his body, lace his weak fingers with your own. His grip is cold and loose. Through his eyes slowly growing dim, you'll see your own reflection, and even though it hurts, Aki will smile at you. Your arms are a bed of roses, perfect to die in. Blood welling at his tongue, he'll kiss you, for one last time. You'll taste it on his lips. 

He should get some sleep. Without you, it won't be a proper sense of rest. But his thoughts will stay silent, at least, for a little while. 

I will love you, even in ruin. You'll live, you'll heal, you'll do the things we always wanted to do but never could, and then, for once, I'll be happy.  The memories of me, the way my voice sounds, the way my touch feels — They'll all fade, slowly, eventually.  If I had more time, I would have spent it all beside you. Your hand in mine, until I'm nothing but bone. 

Aki shuts the curtains and crawls into his make-shift bed. The sheets feel chilly. Shadows dance on the wall, his eyes burn, his breath is sharp. Sleep comes in restless intervals, accompanied by scattered dreams. Some are more like nightmares, but some are dreams of something better, something warmer. A reverie made of dripping honey and soft snow, of a clear sky filled with stars and a heart cleansed from all its regrets. Dreams of where this loop always leads back to — Dreams of you. 

yes. just yes. this is tapping into smth within me that I SWEAR wasnt there a minute ago 👀

— revoked privileges 

→ summary: taking away their cuddling privileges for a month after a fight had happened

→ warnings: grammatical mistakes may occur, having to reject their cuddle sessions, petnames like “love” in diluc’s part, slight cursing, slight crack, tiny angst to fluff

→ childe, diluc, albedo, scaramouche, kazuha (separated)

→ kaeya, zhongli, xiao, aether’s

Keep reading

⑅ ۫ . ෆ ˟ ໒꒱ DREAM A LITTLE DREAM OF ME?

al haitham x f!reader ౨ৎ . . . 17+ only ໒꒱ ⋆˚✩. fluff! fluffy fluffy mega fluff :3 / sensitive eared al haitham snifl ;;n;; he's so kwuit / maybe ooc al haitham? / suggestive undertones / al haitham calls reader a "minx" at one point ‹𝟹

al haitham doesn't have his earpiece on the first time you fall asleep on his shoulder. it's in the comfort of his own home, it's a good day and there's a good book in his lap and his good friend is sitting next to him— he has no reason to keep it on.

it doesn't catch him off guard when he feels the familiarity of your weight on his shoulder and the warmth of your body as it falls slack against his own, something he's felt countless times no thanks to your several clumsy trips and slips here and there. he looks down at you to find you asleep, and he's almost tempted to maneuver you into laying on the couch and throwing a blanket at your face to avoid all the whining you'll be doing about your neck aching after you wake up.

"tired, are we? it's only noon..."

but his gaze softens as he continues observing you— the sweet innocence gracing your face and the slight part of your lips as you begin to quietly snore— and he can't seem to find it in himself to remove you from him. and he sighs a defeated sigh, because al haitham is quick to come to the conclusion that he enjoys having you lay on him like this, that he likes how adorable you look when you aren't yapping your mouth at him. and he decides he can be selfish for now, damn the little neck ache you'll feel from straining it like this.

he lets you rest on his shoulder silently while he continues to read his book, but it's not long after when you begin to whimper incoherently in your sleep, brows furrowed and your arms wrapping around one of his own. he watches, patiently and curiously as you snuggle into his chest, nuzzling your face against his neck in search of more comfort.

"oh? this is new." he grins and muses to no one but himself, a brow cocked up as he continues to watch you with interest, trying to decipher whatever it is that you're mumbling.

and then he hears it— tiny, repeated whines of his name spilling from your lips without a filter— 'haitham... 'haitham, like you... like you s'much... you breathe blissfully against the shell of his ear and al haitham swears his heart skips a beat.

huh. it's never done that before.

and so he purses his lips, grinding his molars in an attempt to swallow the perturbed grunt that bubbles in his throat as your nose continues to graze along his ear, softly smoothing along the cartilage. the book lays long forgotten on his lap as his hands ball into white-knuckled fists, spine lit ablaze with tingles that rush through his nerves at every breath, whisper, touch you lay over his ear.

there's no denying his ears are incredibly sensitive to both sound and touch, the latter always causing him to react in more... salacious ways.

and even with all the self-discipline and resolve al haitham has built up over the years, he is still a human by nature, and he begins to find it immensely difficult to keep his blood from flowing south. his pants seem tighter all of a sudden and his crotch begins to ache and oh, the feel of your skin against his makes him feel like he's being scorched alive.

"you little minx." al haitham whispers cooly and matter-of-factly, the neutral expression on his face a stark contrast to the flames that grow blue in the pit of his heart.

but his choice of wording is absolutely incorrect, he knows this, because you, never the wiser, are about the furthest thing from a minx. there's nothing cunning or impudent about your current actions, but god— it feels like you're reaching straight into his chest, tugging at his heartstrings and carving your name into the organ, because all he can think, feel is you, you, you.

"if you're trying to get me wrapped around your finger..." he stops to sigh, shaking his head with a defeated smile. and the more he looks at you, the more he's tempted to flick your forehead, poke it with his finger until you wake up and discover your body curled up against his; just to see you embarrassed and quiet and avoidant of his gaze. but, no— instead, he leans into your forehead, lips barely grazing over the skin just as your lips did his ear, before pulling back, deciding that perhaps this, a teasing conversation and a forehead kiss would be best saved for when you're awake. "you're doing an excellent job of it."

from coco ๑‧₊˚ ෆ he is my littl honeyboy ! i kiskiskiskis so soft .... yeah . hav dis littl thing i thought up after his teaser video yesterday >0< hope ya like it , even if its only a bit ! comments + reblogs + feedback of any kind ! r supa ! dupa appreciated !! thankies a billi for reading ໒꒰ྀི∩´͈ ᐜ `͈∩꒱ྀིა